The night felt… wrong.
Not dark. Not quiet.
Wrong.
The sky above the village stretched endlessly, cloudless and hollow, as if something had scraped the stars away. Even the moon seemed distant, dimmer than usual—like it was watching from afar, unwilling to get involved.
No wind passed through the trees.
No insects sang.
Even the dogs had stopped barking.
It was as if the entire world had stepped back… leaving only the village behind.
Waiting.
---
At the center of the village, a wide clearing had been prepared.
Torches formed a perfect circle, their flames flickering weakly despite the still air. The ground had been carved with ancient markings—symbols so old that no one truly remembered their meaning anymore.
But everyone knew their purpose.
A stone altar stood in the middle.
Dark stains covered its surface.
Old stains.
Not washed away. Never washed away.
Because this ritual… was not meant to be forgotten.
---
"This year feels heavier…"
A whisper passed through the gathered villagers.
No one responded.
Because everyone felt it.
The unease.
The pressure in their chest.
The silent question none of them dared to speak:
What if this time… it doesn't work?
---
At the edge of the clearing stood a group of young people.
Six of them.
Bound.
Kneeling.
Waiting.
---
Among them was a boy.
Seventeen years old.
Thin. Quiet. Forgotten.
Unlike the others, no one stood behind him.
No mother crying.
No father looking away.
No one praying for him.
Because there was no one left to pray.
---
He lowered his head slightly, eyes fixed on the ground.
The dirt was uneven. Small cracks ran through it, as if the earth itself had been disturbed countless times before.
Maybe it had.
He swallowed.
His throat felt dry.
Not from fear alone… but from something deeper.
A strange discomfort he couldn't explain.
---
Something is wrong…
The thought came suddenly.
Uninvited.
Unclear.
But persistent.
---
"Silence!"
The voice of the priest cut through the air.
An old man stepped forward, draped in ceremonial robes that dragged across the ground. His face was lined with age, but his eyes held something sharper.
Fear.
Hidden beneath authority.
---
"Tonight," he began, raising his staff toward the sky, "we uphold the covenant given to us by the divine."
The villagers lowered their heads immediately.
"Every twelve years, we offer what must be offered… so that balance may be preserved."
His voice echoed.
But the boy barely listened.
---
Instead… he was watching something else.
The torches.
---
The flames were… bending.
Not flickering.
Bending.
As if something unseen was pressing against them.
---
His heartbeat quickened.
Do they not see it…?
He glanced sideways.
The others remained still.
Heads down.
Eyes closed.
Waiting.
---
"…May the gods descend."
The priest's voice lowered into a chant.
The symbols on the ground seemed to darken.
Or maybe it was just his imagination.
---
The first boy screamed.
---
It happened suddenly.
No warning.
No build‑up.
One moment he was kneeling.
The next—his body snapped upright.
His eyes turned white.
Completely white.
---
A god had entered.
---
The possessed boy moved unnaturally.
Too smooth.
Too controlled.
Like a puppet whose strings were pulled by something far above.
---
The blade was picked up.
No hesitation.
No resistance.
---
And then—
A dull sound.
---
The body collapsed.
---
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Absolute.
---
The boy's hands tightened against the ropes.
His breathing became uneven.
---
This is real.
This is actually happening.
---
He had seen the ritual before.
Everyone had.
But seeing it…
And being part of it…
Were completely different things.
---
Five minutes passed.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
---
Each death was identical.
Precise.
Cold.
Inevitable.
---
The boy stopped looking.
But he could still hear it.
The footsteps.
The blade.
The fall.
---
Four bodies lay on the ground now.
Still warm.
Still human.
---
Only two remained.
---
One of them was next.
The boy beside him trembled violently.
Whispers escaped his lips—broken prayers, repeated again and again.
---
Then—
Silence.
---
Nothing happened.
---
The priest frowned slightly.
"…Continue."
---
The chant resumed.
Slower this time.
Heavier.
---
The boy felt it before he understood it.
A pressure.
Not outside.
Inside.
---
Something was descending.
---
His vision blurred.
The world around him seemed distant.
Muted.
---
And then—
Darkness.
---
When his eyes opened again…
He was no longer the one in control.
---
The god within him looked around.
Calm.
Observing.
---
"…Strange."
---
This body was different.
There was resistance.
Not strong.
But present.
---
Still, it didn't matter.
The ritual must be completed.
---
The god moved the body.
Stood up.
Picked up the blade.
---
The villagers watched.
Relieved.
---
Everything was returning to normal.
---
The blade rose.
---
And then—
Stopped.
---
A second presence stirred.
---
Deep within the boy's body…
Something ancient opened its eyes.
---
Not divine.
Not obedient.
---
Wild.
---
The god frowned.
"…What is this?"
---
The resistance grew stronger.
Violent.
Unstable.
---
The blade trembled in his hand.
---
Then—
The truth surfaced.
---
"…Anti‑God…?"
---
For the first time—
The god hesitated.
---
Inside the boy…
Two forces collided.
---
The ritual circle cracked.
---
A sound echoed.
Not from the outside.
From within.
---
And then—
Everything broke.
---
The god vanished.
---
The boy collapsed.
---
The ritual…
Failed.
---
For a moment—
No one moved.
---
Then panic spread.
---
"What happened—?!"
"The ritual—!"
"It stopped—!"
---
Fear turned quickly.
Into anger.
---
"It's him."
---
The boy tried to breathe.
But hands grabbed him.
Pulled him up.
Struck him down.
---
"You ruined it!"
"You cursed us!"
---
Pain exploded across his body.
But even through the chaos—
He felt it.
---
Something inside him…
Was still awake.
---
Watching.
---
Waiting.
---
And far beyond the sky…
Something else had noticed too.
---
Because for the first time in centuries—
The cycle had been interrupted.
---
And the one who caused it…
Had no idea what he had just become.